Pistols
by Janieshi
Summary: "'I knew you were holding out on me,' Rebecca muttered darkly." A collection of one-shots detailing Riza Hawkeye's life at the Academy and her growing friendship with fellow cadet Rebecca Catalina. Takes place post-Espionage. Canon-compliant, not slash, mild Royai hints if you squint. Rated T for saucy language.
1. Opposites Attract

**Opposites Attract**

* * *

_"Many a friendship, long, loyal, and self-sacrificing, rests on no thicker a foundation than a kind word." _

_~Frederick W. Faber_

* * *

On some level, Riza Hawkeye had always known that life at the Military Academy would be extremely challenging, and she wasn't thinking of the coursework. After all, she recognized that her many years of homeschooling in a small town had ill-prepared her for the intricacies of socializing with an academy full of co-eds. But with each passing day, she grew more and more keenly aware that she was making social blunders left and right: she was apparently too quiet, too smart, and too serious to suit the majority of her peers. Though she'd never given very much thought to her own physical attributes, others evidently did, and either her pretty face made her too intimidating to approach or she was too plain and boring to be worth talking to, depending upon who one asked. And being assigned to a coveted single room as a first-year cadet didn't win her any popularity contests, either.

In contrast, Rebecca Catalina had been the center of attention in every room she'd occupied since she'd learned to speak. Precocious and observant, she'd developed a wicked sense of humor early on, which had netted her an entourage of superficial admirers wherever she went. Pretty and clever and _loud_, Rebecca was impossible to overlook. But the same qualities discouraged most people from looking beyond the surface, and Rebecca knew that none of her 'friends' could honestly claim they knew her. When she had announced her intention to join the military, even her own family had been baffled until she'd winked and added that it was a target-rich environment she couldn't ignore. And she while she would never deny that it _was_ a part of her motivation, finding herself an eligible bachelor wasn't Rebecca's primary reason for enlisting. Deep down, she longed for the camaraderie she'd observed among the soldiers of her acquaintance. Rebecca wanted what they had – the kind of friendships that she'd be willing to fight and die for.

That first day on the practice range had been an eye opener for both of them.*

Catalina had always gotten along better with the boys, but those bonds usually fell apart as soon as jealous girlfriends interfered or when unrequited feelings developed (regardless of whose side they developed on). She'd been disappointed to discover that the young men and women in the military academy were no different in that respect than her scores of superficial and fickle civilian 'friends.' So when the pretty, soft-spoken blonde who'd always seemed so cold and aloof had dazzled the entire class with her marksmanship and then proceeded to stammer in doe-eyed confusion when Rebecca introduced herself, Rebecca only saw the opportunity to befriend someone else who knew what it was like to be judged based solely on appearances.

Hawkeye hadn't even realized how lonely she'd become until Catalina fast-talked her way into her life. Overnight, she had an ally against the jealous and the petty, a stalwart defender who was more than willing to take on Hawkeye's battles as if they were her own. She had a companion to sit with during mealtimes, one who didn't mind if she'd rather listen quietly than prattle on about the insignificant minutiae of her day. She had a person who was genuinely and openly pleased to see her whenever they met, whose warm and cheerful presence made her smile genuinely in return. And, perhaps most importantly, she had someone for whom she apparently fulfilled a reciprocal role.

Though their relationship had had a slightly unconventional beginning, Hawkeye and Catalina grew to depend on each other's friendship far more quickly than either girl could have anticipated.

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**A.N. ****Dedicated to Sweetdeath04, who asked the question that released a whole herd of rabid plot bunnies.**

*** See Infinite Arms, Chapter 4 for the rest of that story. Look at that - shameless self-promotion. I never knew I had it in me! :D**


	2. On the Edge of a Knife

**On the Edge of a Knife**

* * *

_"Trust is something that comes easy when you've never been a victim." _

_~Face to Face, Disconnected._

* * *

"How'd we get stuck with this stupid job again?" Catalina groaned. She dropped a poorly peeled potato into a huge stockpot and reached for another.

"K.P. is part of the duty roster," Hawkeye replied calmly. "All the first years have to do it at some point."

"But seriously, peeling potatoes? How cliché can you get?" Catalina added, scraping her knife petulantly across the mottled skin of the vegetable in her hand. "I feel like I'm in one of those comic strips about military life."

"Would you rather be washing dishes?" Hawkeye countered, eyes flicking to the other end of the kitchen. Under the watchful eye of the regular kitchen staff, two other cadets were vigorously scrubbing pots, sweating profusely and shooting envious glares at the two girls and their vegetables every few minutes. A third cadet was whistling tunelessly to himself as he wrestled the bucket and mop out of the utility closet.

"Point taken," Catalina sighed, thinking of the damage hot soapy water would do to her lily-white hands. She snuck another glance at her partner.

Naturally, all of _Hawkeye's_ potatoes were perfectly smooth and white and completely free of eyes and those funny little dark spots. Plus she'd already finished peeling nearly twice the number Catalina had. Catalina glared at her resentfully for a moment, until she realized that the other girl wasn't going to look up any time soon.

"Well, at least we're on K.P. together," Catalina finally added, pouting a little. "I'd hate to be stuck down here with Smythe or Winters for a whole rotat—YEOW!" she yelped, dropping her paring knife with a clatter and reflexively clutching her hand to her chest. "Motherfucking _FUCK_!"

Hawkeye flew to her side as the other occupants of the kitchen looked around in alarm.

"Are you all right? Let me see it," she demanded, trying to pry Catalina's left hand away from the cut on her right. The brunette's eyes had welled up with involuntary tears, which she quickly blinked away, knowing that everyone was watching.

"I'm okay, it's just a scratch," she said quickly, waving off the concerns of the kitchen staff. "It's not that bad, I don't think, it just _really_ hurt!" she added more quietly, for Riza's benefit. As the others slowly turned back to their own varied tasks, Rebecca allowed Riza to lead her over to the sink and run the injured finger under the tap. As the streaks of blood washed away, the tension slowly left Riza's face.

"Okay, good. It's not very deep," she confirmed softly. "Hold on, let me go and get a first aid kit." She rummaged around in one of the cabinets for a moment, and returned to Rebecca with a bandage and some ointment.

"Thanks," Rebecca muttered, a little embarrassed by her earlier outburst. It was just a teensy cut; nothing to squeal over. "Sorry; I didn't mean to yell so loud."

"It's all right," Hawkeye said, gently taking her hand and tending to the small wound with her usual cool efficiency. "And you don't have to apologize for anything. Just because it's not life-threatening doesn't mean it didn't hurt."

Rebecca blinked in surprise: Hawkeye 's gentle empathy was completely sincere. She didn't even have that faintly superior expression that Catalina had come to recognize on the faces of her peers, the one that said 'you're just an attention-seeking little tart, aren't you?'

No, Riza was a horse of a different color…Riza actually _cared_ about her.

"It could have been a lot worse, I guess," Rebecca said lightly, attempting to hide her sudden swell of emotion. "I'm just lucky that the knives aren't all that sharp." Hawkeye frowned a little.

"Actually, you're more likely to have an accident with a dull knife than with a properly sharpened one," she explained, moving back to the sink to wash the excess ointment and smears of Rebecca's blood from her hands. "You have to use more force when you're slicing things with a dull blade, which gives you less control, and can consequently lead to nastier accidents."

"Huh, really?" Catalina replied, wiggling her newly bandaged fingers. Hawkeye had done quite a professional job.

"Mm hm," the blonde answered absently, already looking for something else under the sink. "Here," she added, surfacing with a box of disposable gloves. "Put one of these on over it. Just in case it keeps bleeding."

"Oh, right. Thanks," Rebecca said, plucking a glove from the box with a small smile. Hawkeye smiled back, a little bit shyly, and then returned to the mountain of potatoes still waiting to be peeled.

Rebecca watched her for another moment, thoughtfully. Unlike her, Riza kept the blade of the paring knife turned towards herself, with her index finger resting along the blunt edge. As she turned the vegetable with sure, deft little movements, the business end of the knife came dangerously close to the thumb that rested on the unpeeled portion, just millimeters away. And yet, _she_ hadn't slipped up once, and the peel of each potato came off in one long, continuous spiral.

Slowly, Catalina picked up another potato from the monstrous pile and tried to match Hawkeye's technique. She fumbled with it a little, frowning. How did Hawkeye make this look so easy? Feeling her friend's eyes on her, Hawkeye glanced over again.

"Something wrong?" she asked quietly. Rebecca shook her head.

"I was just wondering…" she trailed off, trying to decide exactly what she wanted to ask. Hawkeye stared at her for a minute, and then a flicker of hurt crossed her face. It was gone before Rebecca was even sure she'd seen it.

"I think I understand. If you wanted to head over to the infirmary, I can take care of the rest of these," Hawkeye offered, gesturing at the potatoes. Although she sounded sincere, her pretty brown eyes had taken on a hard, wary look that Rebecca had never seen in them before.

"What, alone?" she squeaked out.

"It's fine," Hawkeye said, turning away.

"No, it's not!" Rebecca protested. She couldn't understand why Hawkeye sounded so resigned.

"I won't rat you out for leaving early, if that's what you're concerned about," Hawkeye replied softly, already halfway done with her next potato.

"Rat me…Riza, what the hell are you talking about?" Rebecca demanded, touching her friend's shoulder to get her attention. She didn't miss the way Riza flinched at the touch. But Hawkeye recovered herself quickly, and when she looked up at Rebecca, her face was carefully blank.

"It's fine, Catalina. Go ahead and go; I've got this."

"Seriously, Riza, my finger is fine! Why would you even suggest—oh my god," she gasped. "People have done that before, haven't they? Skipped out on you?"

_Lots of times_, Riza wanted to say, _just not in the way you mean_.

"Once or twice," she admitted, averting her eyes.

"Let me guess," Rebecca said slowly. "Someone sold you a line about having a big test to study for, or a hot date, or some other really big important thing that had to be done right then and there, right?" she asked, bitterness seeping into her voice. "And, oh, hey, you wouldn't mind finishing up on your own, right? Since you're such a cool person and all? They'll, like, totally, make it up to you next time, yeah?"

Riza bit her lip, suddenly unsure of herself. Clearly she wasn't the only one who'd been taken in.

"You're injured," she murmured. "If you wanted to have your wound checked out in the infirmary, I'd understand."

"I'm FINE. The fuck, you really think I'd up and _ditch_ you? Like one of those selfish cows? I guess it's nice to know what you really think of me!" Rebecca snapped, eyes flashing.

"I didn't—that's not what I meant," Riza objected quietly.

"Then why are you saying this shit?" Rebecca retorted, pressing forward into Riza's personal space. On the opposite end of the kitchen, the rest of the kitchen staff was just beginning to realize that something was going on between the two girls. Riza squirmed a little under the added scrutiny.

"You were just complaining that you didn't want to do this. And you _are_ hurt," she said, fighting to keep calm. "And you wouldn't be the first person to skip out on me, no."

"It's because you're too goddamn nice!" Rebecca snapped. "You can't just go around letting people take advantage of your kind nature!" Noticing that Riza's eyes kept flicking back to the other occupants of the kitchen, she spared a moment to shoot a nasty glare at them. Their whispering stopped abruptly, and they wisely averted their eyes and decided to let the two girls work out their troubles on their own. "You need to stand up for yourself, do you hear me?" Rebecca hissed, punctuating her words with sharp little jabs to Hawkeye's shoulder.

"Catalina," Riza interrupted softly, eyes downcast.

"No, you listen here, Riza Hawkeye," Rebecca said firmly, narrowing her own eyes. "First of all, I would _never_ ditch you like that. And I'm kinda pissed that you assumed I would! You are my _friend_, you got that? And friends don't pull that kind of bullshit on each other. Second of all, we were both assigned to this stupid, lame-ass kitchen patrol. And even if I don't like it, it's my duty as a cadet in the Amestrian Military Academy to follow the orders I'm given. More importantly, it's my duty as your _friend_ to share the burden of the task we were both assigned and muddle through it _together_!"

"Catalina," Riza said again. "You're—"

"Nope, I've barely even got a scratch, so you can spare me the 'you're injured' bullshit," Rebecca went on, unheeding. "That's...enabling, or whatever you call it, and you're damn lucky I'm not the kind of bitch who'd take you at your word and skip cheerfully out the door, or you'd be stuck here for hours slaving over these fucking things," she added, brandishing a potato somewhat wildly.

"Catalina," Riza tried once more, a little bit louder.

"WHAT?!" Rebecca screeched. The others winced at the sudden noise, but kept their attention very firmly on their pots and pans.

"Your cut is bleeding again," Riza said calmly, pointing at Rebecca's flailing hand.

"Oh, god DAMN IT!" the other girl snarled. She inspected her bandaged finger intently for a moment. "Forget it; it's not gushing or anything," she finally said. "And anyway the glove will keep it off the stupid potatoes. Now will you please shut up about my leaving and just show me how in the hell you're doing that so perfectly?" Riza just blinked at her for a second, nonplussed by the abrupt change of topic and tone.

"What? Oh, um...yes, here," she said, picking up a potato and waiting for Rebecca to do the same. "Hold it in your left hand, like that. And then put your right index finger here, and your thumb here, just like this, see? And then you just rotate it with your left hand, and keep guiding the knife with your right thumb, and…and that's it, really," she explained quickly, still bemused. "There's not much to it."

"God, I'm gonna slice my whole hand off at this rate," Rebecca said nervously, as she clumsily imitated her friend.

"No you aren't," Riza said reassuringly. "Remember that you're completely in control. You're the one guiding the knife, not the other way around. It can't do anything that you don't _make_ it do."

"Huh," Rebecca said wonderingly. "Never thought of it like that. You know, this is much easier than the way I was trying to do it. Where'd you learn how to do this?"

"What, peel potatoes?" And again with the bewildered look. Which Rebecca thought was rather adorable on her.

"No, cook," Catalina corrected her, hiding a smile. "Before, you said you were pretty young when your mom died. So who taught you all this stuff?"

"Oh," Riza replied with some surprise. "Well, I _was_ pretty young, I suppose. But…my mother knew she was really sick, and she wanted to make sure I could look after myself and my father once she was gone. So we started having lessons, each night. Though I didn't realize that that's what she was doing at the time. For years, I just assumed that she'd really enjoyed cooking. Something my father said finally tipped me off," she admitted, quietly.

"Dammit, why do you have such a tragic backstory?" Rebecca whined, finishing her potato with a little flourish and reaching for another. "It makes it really hard to stay annoyed with you."

"So sorry," Riza said dryly. "I'll try to be a little less pitiful so you can get back to scolding me, shall I?"

"Oh, shut up, that's not what I meant at all, and you know it."

"All right," Riza conceded. "Then what _did_ you mean?" she asked carefully. Rebecca frowned, considering.

"I guess I wanted to know…why you do it?" she asked quietly. "When the others stick you with their chores, how come you let them get away with it?"

"You make it sound like I always let people walk all over me," Riza observed, stealing a glance at Rebecca's profile.

"Do you?"

"I'm not some pathetic little pushover," Riza protested. "Although there are certainly people who drag their feet and waste time complaining about whatever the assigned task is, it's not as if I end up doing the lion's share of the work on every rotation."

"Then what about the people who've skipped out and left you holding the bag, huh?"

"It only happened twice, back when I first got here," Riza said defensively. "They were seniors and I didn't know how to refuse when they asked."

Well, she really _had_ known better; she wasn't _that_ naïve. But she hadn't been quick enough to protest their flimsy excuses, and they'd made their escapes while she'd still been standing there stunned and gaping at their audacity.

"Okay, fine, but why didn't you say anything afterwards? Lodge a complaint or ask to be reassigned to another rotation or something?" Rebecca persisted.

"I…I suppose I was just trying to get along with everyone. They already disliked me; I didn't want to make it easier," Hawkeye murmured, slightly embarrassed. She sounded a bit pathetic after all.

"Well, since when do you care what people think of you? I thought we agreed that the other girls here are idiots," Rebecca said, looking over at her.

Riza mumbled something under her breath.

"Sorry, what was that?" Rebecca asked, leaning closer. Riza sighed.

"I said: I _don't_ really care what the other girls think about me. I do, however, care what you think," she said, blushing slightly. "And I assumed…well, never mind. I'm sorry that I doubted you."

The last of Rebecca's frustrations melted away.

"Riza, put that knife down a sec," she ordered. Without thinking, Riza complied.

Rebecca promptly threw her arms around her and squeezed with all of her strength. The other cadets and kitchen staff still present exchanged amused shrugs and smirks, as if to say: _Hey, it's Catalina, what can you do? The girl is nuts._

"Rebecca," Riza gasped, struggling ineffectually. "You-you can let me go now, please."

"Admit it. You like me," Rebecca demanded, grinning maniacally. "You were going to let _me_ get away with outrageous behavior because you like having me around, and you didn't want to risk losing me if you made a fuss over it."

"Starting to reconsider," Riza wheezed, but she was smiling when Rebecca released her.

"Riza, darling, I hate to break this to you, but it's definitely too late to escape my clutches. Make all the fuss you want, but you're stuck with me, now," Rebecca said happily.

"Be still, my heart," Riza said dryly. But warmth flooded through her chest, and she gently bumped her shoulder against Rebecca's in an affectionate gesture that the other girl had often used on her. "Come on, let's get back to work before they accuse us of making a disturbance and try to have us switched to cleaning the latrines."

"Oh god, anything but that!" Rebecca moaned. "I hate scrubbing toilets. Hey, speaking of which, I was on latrine duty last month with Winters, and I just heard that she and one of the new guys were caught trying to sneak back in past curfew last night…"

As Rebecca babbled on about the latest hot gossip, Riza couldn't help but marvel at the ease with which their first real argument had been resolved.

"Hey Catalina?" she said, at the next pause in Rebecca's story.

"Hm?"

"You're stuck with me, too, you know," she said shyly. Rebecca's smile lit up her face.

"Damn straight," she replied. "And don't you forget it!"

* * *

**A.N. Special twofer today since this was originally one long chapter...made more sense in my head to break it up :D As always, constructive criticism is welcome and appreciated!**

**xoxo Janie**


	3. I've Got Your Back

**I've Got Your Back**

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_"Amicu certus in re incerta cernitur." (A true friend is certain when matters are uncertain.)_

_~Quintus Ennius._

* * *

Deep in thought and absently finger-combing her damp hair, Hawkeye jerked violently when the door to her dorm room flew open.

"You startled me," she said in an accusatory tone, as Catalina bounded in.

"Oh good, you're already showered!" Catalina chirped. "I wasn't sure whether you'd be back from the range yet; thought we might have to wait a bit for you."

"Wait for me for what?" Hawkeye asked, bewildered.

"A few of us are going out for drinks down at the Wild Turkey. You'll come, won't you?"

"Depends," Hawkeye said slowly, grabbing the damp towel she'd dropped on her bed a few minutes earlier. "What are the chances that this will be a nice, quiet evening out among people who will conduct themselves with poise and dignity?" Rebecca pretended to consider.

"Mm, slim to none," she shrugged, grinning.

"Then, thanks, but no," Riza replied, laughing a little as she hung the towel on the hook behind her door.

"Ah, come on! I've been dying to get out all week!"

"So why don't you? You said there were other girls going, didn't you?" Rebecca huffed and flung herself down flat across the bed and narrowly missing Riza's toiletry bag.

"But none of them even _like_ me," she whined.

"They don't like _you_, or you don't like _them_?" Riza countered, smirking as she tossed the day's dirty clothing into her laundry hamper.

"We have a healthy level of mutual loathing for each other," Rebecca said loftily. "They think I'm an obnoxious flirt, and I think they're self-righteous, jealous snobs."

"You know, if you're still trying to convince me to go along, you really aren't doing a very good job of it," Riza replied, grinning as she dropped back into her desk chair.

"Well it's not like we have to talk to them the whole time!" Rebecca cried, sitting upright suddenly. "We just happen to be going the same place, that's all, but we can pretty much ditch them once we get there."

"Gee, hard to see why they wouldn't like you..." Riza teased, resting her chin in her hand and feigning a thoughtful air.

"Come on, Riza! It's Saturday night! We've got no classes tomorrow! What else are you going to do, laundry?"

"Well, the laundry room IS a lot quieter on Saturday nights," Riza mused.

"You're not seriously choosing dirty socks over going out for drinks with your peers, are you?" Rebecca gasped, scandalized.

"What's the magic word?" Riza prompted, looking prim.

"PLEASE?" Rebecca rose onto her knees and dramatically clasped her hands to her breast. "Pretty please with a cherry on top?" Riza laughed.

"All right, all right! I'll go," she said, throwing her hands up. "I'll need to change, though…" she added, gesturing to the sweatshirt and pajama pants she'd thrown on after her shower. Unlike some of the other female cadets, she refused to wander the hallways dressed only in her towel.

"Right, about that," Rebecca said, rising to her feet and crossing over to Riza's closet. "You have to have something besides the cadet uniforms and military-issued sweats in here."

"Well, of course I do," Riza said indignantly. Rebecca ignored her and began to rummage through the various hanging items.

"Too modest, too plain, too boring…don't you have any going-out clothes? Short skirts? Dresses?" she asked, exasperated. "We need to take you shopping, stat." Riza just rolled her eyes.

Finally, Rebecca found a black skirt and a short sleeved red blouse that she approved of (grudgingly). And after a brief tussle with mascara and lipstick ("Hold still—I just need to tart you up a _little_!") which Riza had ultimately lost ("You do NOT look like a whore, you just look like you're wearing lipstick! Stop trying to wipe it off!"), they were on their way.

The Wild Turkey was a rough-and-tumble sort of neighborhood bar not too far from the Academy. Young women, even cadets given daily training on the various methods of killing a man, rarely went there alone. They preferred to travel in packs to avert possible advances from the seedier clientele known to frequent the place. The music was loud, the lighting dim, and the air smoky, but most importantly? The booze was cheap. All of which made the Wild Turkey popular with both the Academy cadets and the students from the nearby Central University, in spite of its unsavory reputation.

Sitting alone at the bar and mostly ignoring the other four girls they'd come with, Riza idly toyed with her barely-touched beer. At eighteen, she'd been legally able to drink for two years, now, but until she'd come to the Academy she'd rarely had the opportunity or the inclination to indulge. She didn't even like beer, really. It left an unpleasant, bitter aftertaste on her tongue. But the fruity mixed drinks her companions were drinking sounded wholly unappealing, and she wasn't quite brave enough to toss back shots like a university student, not in a place like this. And so instead she just watched and listened as the people around her got more and more inebriated. Cheap entertainment, she thought with a smirk.

The bartender was flirting with one of his cocktail waitresses, whose low cut blouse and push-up bra were probably netting her a week's worth of tips from the table of middle-aged businessmen who kept ordering White Drachmans. Riza shuddered at the very thought of cream mixed with vodka, but the businessmen seemed to like them well enough. A few tables away from them, an elderly gentleman glowered into his scotch, appearing not to notice the noise and bustle all around him. At the table beside his, two women in their late twenties chattered loudly about their boyfriend troubles. Behind them, two of the four cadets she'd come in with were dancing (if you could even call it that) to a catchy pop song blaring from the jukebox. A trio of eager male cadets who Hawkeye didn't recognize kept them company. In the opposite corner, the third female cadet had joined a mixed group of university students playing darts. The fourth girl sat nearby, watching them play but not participating, and glowering every time one of the boys talked to her friend.

And across the room, Rebecca was flirting with a group of slightly older men who were playing pool. Badly. Riza was certain that she could beat the lot of them. If she'd had Rebecca's daring and a lax moral code, she'd have been tempted to con them all by pretending to play badly at first, and then wiping the floor with them once they'd put money on the game. As it was, though, Rebecca merely giggled as one of the men, a stocky blond, pressed his body close against hers while ostensibly teaching her to line up a shot properly.

"Hey, um, Hawkeye?" one of the other girls suddenly materialized beside her. The curly-haired blonde one whose name Hawkeye always forgot.

"Hm?" she said, turning towards her. Strand? No...Sam?

"We're heading out now. You coming with?" she asked. Hawkeye frowned slightly. What about Rebecca?

"Thanks, but I'd better wait for Catalina to finish her game," she replied politely. "You four go on ahead; we'll see you back in the dorms."

"Oo-okay, but…" the blonde trailed off, glancing over at Rebecca with a doubtful look as the other three girls approached, shrugging on their coats.

"Come on, Sands," hissed Scott, sticking her snub nose in the air. "Let Hawkeye figure it out for herself, then." Sands, that was it, Hawkeye thought. But what were they talking about?

"We can't just leave her here!" Winters protested, elbowing Scott in the side. "Listen, Hawkeye. Catalina…well, you know her reputation, right?"

"I beg your pardon?" Hawkeye replied, raising a brow. Were they honestly implying what she thought they were?

"She's boy-crazy," Smythe said, bluntly. "So, you know, she might not be _planning_ to head back to the dorms, later. And you really shouldn't go back alone. It's dangerous to be out there all by yourself."

"Excuse me, but have any of you actually asked Catalina what her plans are?" Hawkeye asked coldly. "Or are you just guessing that she intends to spend the night with some strange man she's only just met?

"I mean, look at her," Scott said, face twisted in an ugly sneer. "Those guys have been all over her since we walked in."

"Jealous?" Hawkeye asked, quirking one eyebrow. Scott flushed in anger, and Hawkeye narrowed her eyes. "Just because she's flirting with someone doesn't mean she's going to sleep with him. How often have you left _her_ behind to walk back alone because you've simply assumed that she's that kind of girl and slipped out without saying anything to her?" God, no wonder Rebecca didn't like these girls.

"I…we-we didn't mean it like…" Winters stammered, nervously fiddling with the end of her long braid.

"Bit hypocritical, don't you agree?" Hawkeye added with a pointed glance at the young woman who'd been caught sneaking out of the men's dorms only two weeks prior. Winters reddened, and Scott laughed cruelly at her.

"She's got a point, Christie," Scott managed, between guffaws. "Tell us again about how you and Mick are just friends?"

"Rachel! We're not - it's not like that!" Winters protested, glancing between Hawkeye and Scott.

"Comrades should _watch_ each other's backs," Hawkeye interrupted in a low, angry voice. "Not stab each other in them." Sands and Winters both looked away, suitably chastised, and even Smythe looked glummer than usual, but Scott just rolled her eyes and tossed her hair over her shoulder.

"Do…do you want us to wait with you?" Sands asked timidly, blushing almost as pink as Winters still was when Riza turned to face her.

"Thank you, no. I'll take my chances with Catalina," Riza said, as she glanced over at her giggling friend. "Even if she _did_ want to go home with someone, I can certainly take care of myself. Good night."

The other four girls echoed her farewell with varying degrees of sincerity, and began edging their way to the exit. Abandoning her beer, Riza rose and headed toward her friend and the group of men still hovering around her.

"Riza! Hi!" Rebecca chirped brightly as she approached. "Having fun?"

"Loads," Riza lied, trying not to frown. Rebecca looked like she'd had a few more than she meant to, if her glazed eyes and slightly slurred speech were any indication.

"Whoa, there!" Rebecca yelped suddenly, slapping at one of the leering men standing near her, who'd taken advantage of her distraction to 'accidentally' brush up against her ass. "Geez, buy a girl dinner, first!"

"Come on, sweetheart, I won't bite," he said, leaning into her space.

"Why not? Afraid I might like it?" Rebecca returned, batting her eyelashes. Riza swallowed a long-suffering sigh.

"Oh for the love of...excuse me," she said, firmly. "I think we're done here. Let's go, Catalina. Good night, gentlemen." Rebecca's drunken grin collapsed into a pout.

"Hey, no...why can't I stay with my new boyfriend? I'm a big girl, I can stay out late if I wanna!" she insisted, trying to wriggle away from Riza's firm hand on her shoulder.

"Yeah, butt out, princess. You're not her mother," another, shorter man growled.

"I'll tell you what," Riza said, ignoring both men and leaning close to her friend. "If you can tell me his name, I'll leave right now. You can do whatever you want with whomever you want, and I won't say another word about it." Rebecca looked up at her and blinked.

"It's…uh...aw, shit," she finally swore softly, realizing that she had no idea what her new 'boyfriend's' name was. "A'right, you win. Let's go."

"Hey!" the first man protested, taking a step toward the two girls. Riza fixed him with a steely look.

"Is there a problem?" she asked in her iciest tone. Faced with Hawkeye's furious glare, stronger men than this cock-sure civilian had crumbled. The fact that she'd shifted her weight into a fighting stance hadn't gone unnoticed, either, and he abruptly remembered the cute brunette saying she was a cadet up at the military academy.

"Uh…no, no problem," he faltered out, backtracking. "Um, have a good night, ladies."

"Thank you," Riza replied coolly, steering her friend firmly away.

"Bye-bye," Rebecca waved sadly over her shoulder.

As they left the bar and made their way through a dark alley towards the main road, Rebecca stumbled and would have fallen if Riza hadn't grabbed her arm. Pulling it around her neck with one hand and wrapping an arm around Rebecca's waist, Riza could only sigh as Rebecca leaned heavily against her.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

"I don't feel very good," Rebecca mumbled softly.

"I can see that. How many drinks did you have?"

"Only two," she murmured, "and then jussa couple a shots. Prob'ly shouldn't've had that las' one," she mused, slurring slightly. "But the boys kept buyin' 'em, an' I los' track."

"Oh, Rebecca, you idiot," Riza scolded. "You know better than to mix beer and liquor like that, don't you?"

"I dunno," Rebecca said mournfully.

"Tell me if you start to feel sick," Riza said sharply. "You hear me?"

"Riza?"

"Yes?"

"I feel sick."

Riza half-dragged her over to a trash can near the mouth of the alley, just in time for Rebecca to empty the contents of her stomach. Dimly, Rebecca realized that Riza was gently rubbing her back with one hand and holding her hair out of the way with the other.

"Better?" Riza asked softly when the coughing and retching had subsided.

"I think so," Rebecca mumbled. "Sorry."

"Not as sorry as you'll be tomorrow, when you wake up with an epic hangover," Riza said lightly. "But come on. Let's get you back to the dorms and tuck you into bed."

Although Rebecca didn't remember much of the walk back to the Academy, she did know that they stopped at least once more so she could puke behind some bushes. And she vaguely registered Hawkeye's disgruntled monologue about pool-playing bastards and how she'd fleece them next time to teach them not to try to take advantage of an idiot girl who didn't know her own limits. By the time they reached the Academy, she'd sobered up enough to be ashamed of herself.

Fortunately, the guard in duty at the gate was sympathetic to the follies of young cadets.

"Too much tequila, honey?" she asked kind-heartedly, accepting their IDs from Hawkeye.

"Uh-huh," Rebecca murmured miserably, resting her head on Riza's shoulder. The older woman chuckled as she passed the IDs back.

"Take my advice, sweetie, drink lots of water before you go to sleep. That'll help some. Hope you all don't have drills tomorrow," she added, as they passed onto the Academy grounds.

"It's too bad we don't, really. It might teach her not to accept drinks from strangers," Riza said over her shoulder. The guard's laugh followed them up all the way up the main entrance of the dorms.

Nearly a half an hour later, during which time Riza had supervised a trip to the bathroom, teeth brushing and all, Rebecca crawled gratefully onto her bed. Silently, Riza tugged the blanket over her and turned to leave.

"Hey, Riza?" Rebecca called softly, careful not to wake her roommate.

"What's wrong; do you feel sick again?" Riza whispered back with some alarm.

"No. I just wanted to say thanks. For looking after me," Rebecca said, in a small voice. "I know I'm a pain in the ass."

"Don't worry about it. You'd have done the same for me," she replied, patting Rebecca's leg lightly. But just in case, she repositioned Rebecca's little trash can closer to the bed.

"I know you could've left with the other girls," Rebecca added. "But you stayed for me and made sure I was okay, and then I repay you by puking on your shoes. I'm really sorry."

"Yeah, Hawkeye's a goddamned saint, and you don't deserve her. Now that we're all clear on that point, could you both please shut up and let me sleep?" Rebecca's roommate piped up, crabbily.

"Sorry, Fisher," Hawkeye whispered. "And Catalina, if it makes you feel any better, you got vomit on your own shoes, not mine."

"You don't mean – not my crimson patent leather ankle-strap stiletto pumps?" Rebecca whimpered.

"Remember how you insisted that I wear taller heels with this skirt?" Riza replied, struggling to keep the laughter out of her voice. "No good deed goes unpunished."

"I'm never drinking again," Rebecca moaned. "At least, not until next weekend."

Even Fisher laughed out loud.

* * *

**A.N. All drunken antics based on real life events involving friends and co-workers. Being the designated driver pays off in blackmail material :D**


	4. Late Night Rendezvous

**Late Night Rendezvous**

* * *

_"There is nothing better than a friend, unless it is a friend with chocolate."_

_~Linda Grayson_

* * *

It had been a very long day, to judge by the dark circles under Major Roy Mustang's eyes. His face was pale and drawn, but he looked faintly cheerful as he nodded a greeting to a small group of soldiers walking in the opposite direction. Unslinging the rifle strapped across his back, he propped it up against a water barrel before leaning down to splash the lukewarm water on his face. Face dripping, he sighed and stared down into the depths of the barrel.

Behind him, a shadow among shadows moved, swift and silent. Distant torchlight glinted on a twisted metal blade, and Roy just had time to look up in surprise before the knife was buried up to its hilt in his back. His startled cry was muffled by the heavy hand that clamped over his mouth, and his blood splashed across the sand as the shadowy figure carefully lowered his body to the ground. The hooded man slipped back into the shadows, leaving Roy choking and struggling for air as his own blood filled his lungs. His erratic movements grew slower and then ceased altogether as the life drained from his eyes.

No. _NO_!

* * *

Hawkeye jerked violently awake with a strangled cry. _Just a dream,_ she told herself. _Oh god, no matter how vivid it had been, how __**real**__, it was just a dream._ Heart still thundering in her chest, she took a slow, shuddering breath and brushed a hand over her damp face.

It was only then that she realized she was not alone.

"Catalina!" she gasped. The other girl was half-sitting on the edge of her bed and leaning over her, looking concerned.

"Hi. You okay?" she asked, in an uncharacteristically gentle voice. Hawkeye flinched at the pity in her tone.

"Bad dream," she explained unnecessarily.

"Wanna talk about it?" Rebecca offered.

"Not really," Hawkeye managed, even as a chill ran down her spine. Rebecca nodded but didn't move out of her friend's personal space. It took Riza another few seconds to demand: "What are you doing here? And why are you looming over me?"

Catalina rocked back and settled more comfortably on the bed as Hawkeye sat up and self-consciously tugged her rumpled nightclothes into place. From where she was sitting, the other girl wasn't able see her back, but Hawkeye still felt vulnerable wearing just a loose tank top. And here she thought she'd be safe in her single room, without a roommate's prying eyes to contend with. Damn this early summer heat.

"I couldn't sleep," Catalina was saying. "So I decided to come and see if you were still awake. And you weren't, but I could hear you thrashing about and muttering from the hallway, so I thought it might be better to wake you up after all."

"Thanks, I think," she murmured, embarrassed. _I really need to get a lock for that door, regulations or no,_ she thought.

"So, now that you're up, too," Rebecca chirped cheerfully, "do you wanna make s'mores?"

"It's...one fifteen in the morning," Hawkeye retorted, after a quick glance at her clock. "And what on earth are 's'mores?'" Rebecca smirked.

"I figured you hadn't tried them before. Never been camping, right?" Hawkeye rolled her eyes.

"No, the poor little orphaned country mouse has never been camping. Let me guess—I've been missing out on a time-honored tradition all these years?"

"Yes!" Rebecca insisted. "Camping's not just some dull civilian pastime; there's a lot more to it! Like…like sitting around a campfire late at night, telling ghost stories and roasting weenies and making s'mores, and snuggling up in sleeping bags under the stars, and—and enjoying the great outdoors! Yeah, okay, I'll give you that last one," she admitted when Riza just raised an eyebrow.

"I had a forest practically growing in my backyard," she grumbled. "So why on earth would I need to spend more time in 'the great outdoors?' And why would I want to sleep on the ground, under a blanket propped on poles, when I had a nice, soft bed waiting for me?"

"Would've prepared you better for the soldier's life if you had," Rebecca sniggered. "How'd that survival training go, again?" Riza groaned and slumped back down on her pillows.

"Go away, Catalina," she said. Rebecca simply flopped down next to her, rolled onto her side and stared steadily at her friend. Finally Hawkeye turned her head to glare at her.

"I'll only go away after you make s'mores with me," Rebecca said obstinately, unaffected. Hawkeye glowered at her. Rebecca glowered back. Finally Hawkeye sighed, knowing when she was beaten.

"Oh for pity's sake," she grumbled, sitting up again. "You're lucky I don't have a roommate, you know that?" Unfazed, Rebecca bounced to her feet and reached for the bag she'd brought with her.

"No, YOU'RE lucky you don't have a roommate. How'd a freshman like you manage to swing a single room, anyway? I've been meaning to ask."

"I'm sure I don't know," Riza said wearily, rubbing sleep out of her eyes. Well that wasn't _entirely_ true. She had a sneaking suspicion that her absentee grandfather was involved somehow, but she didn't have any way to confirm that for certain, so she wasn't _really_ lying. "So…what is all that stuff?" she added, gesturing to the bag in her friend's hands.

"Marshmallows, chocolate, and graham crackers," Rebecca said happily as she took each item out of the bag and set them on Hawkeye's desk. When Riza simply looked blank, Rebecca hastened to explain. "See, you roast the marshmallows over a campfire until they're all soft and gooey on the inside and just a little bit brown on the outside, and then you smash them in between the crackers with a bit of the chocolate, which melts a little from the heat of the marshmallow. And voila! S'mores!"

"We are _not_ lighting a fire in here, Rebecca," Riza stated firmly, folding her arms over her chest. Her friend snorted.

"Well of bloody course not. What kind of idiot do you take me for? Don't answer that," she added quickly when she saw Riza's lips curve upwards. "We're gonna improvise. You've got a hotplate somewhere in here, don't you?"

"Mmhm, top shelf in the closet," she replied. The second Rebecca's back was turned, Hawkeye rose and reached for the sweatshirt she'd left draped over the back of her desk chair. Feeling a lot more secure once she'd pulled it on and thus safely hidden her tattoo from Rebecca's observant eyes, she then set about clearing papers to one side of her desk so that they'd have a place to assemble their treats.

"All right, here we go," Rebecca said cheerfully, bending down to plug the hotplate in. "We can use these forks I borrowed from the mess hall to hold the marshmallows over the heat of the hot plate. Might take a bit longer, but it should still work."

"Um, Rebecca? You don't see any problems with that arrangement?" Riza asked, amused. Her friend blinked at her. "Remember how metal conducts heat? Especially these cheap utensils."

"Oh crap," Rebecca muttered, face falling. "I didn't even think about that. I don't suppose you have any wire hangers in there, do you?"

"Nope. But I have another idea," Riza said, bending down to rummage in one of her drawers. She emerged with a pair of socks, and unfolding them, tossed one to Rebecca.

"Seriously?" Rebecca said incredulously. Riza shrugged.

"This was your harebrained scheme in the first place. You couldn't have 'borrowed' a couple of oven mitts while you were pillaging the mess hall?" Rebecca giggled.

"I'll remember for next time. Now come on!"

Arranging the hotplate in the middle of the floor, Rebecca plopped down cross-legged in front of it and stuck her 'roasting fork' out over it with a look of intense concentration on her pretty face. Riza hesitated for just a second before following her lead and self-consciously settling herself on the opposite side of the hotplate. The strangeness of the whole early morning visit was still sinking in.

"You're a little bit crazy, you know that?" Hawkeye finally said, fondness seeping into her tone. Rebecca grinned.

"Aw, but that's why you like me. I keep things interesting," she retorted. "Come on, when's the last time you did something like this?"

"Roasted marshmallows over a hotplate on the floor of a dorm room just shy of oh-two-hundred? I can honestly say never," Riza chuckled in reply.

"Come on, you never stayed up late with your friends, talking about boys and braiding each other's hair? Painting your toenails and all that?"

"What, you mean slumber party sort of things? No, not exactly," she said thoughtfully, slowly twirling her own fork above the hotplate. Although...now that she thought about it, there had been all those late nights with Roy. They'd certainly stayed up until the small hours of the morning plenty of times, caught up in studying or talking or just enjoying each other's company. But she was fairly certain that code breaking, nightmares, astronomy, and the merits of Drachman fiction were probably not the sort of subjects most teenage girls would want to discuss at a sleepover.

"Hm, I'm beginning to recall something about your having a deprived childhood," Rebecca said, staring fixedly at her. "So you really never did the slumber party thing, then?"

"Nope. Small town? Home schooled? No girl friends?"

"Something else you missed out on," Rebecca sighed. "I'd offer to braid your hair, but..."

"But that would be an exercise in futility," Riza laughed, running her free hand through her short locks.

"I don't suppose you'd let me paint your nails, then?" Rebecca asked.

"You don't suppose correctly," Riza retorted. "And the last time I checked, nail polish is against dress code." Rebecca wriggled her own painted toes with a mischievous grin.

"Who's gonna see 'em? We're always wearing boots for inspections. What are they gonna do, have everyone stand out there barefoot one day, or follow us into the showers or something, just to make sure no one's got Harlot Scarlet or Berry Naughty on her toenails?

"All the same, I'd rather not risk it," Hawkeye said wryly. "Are those real color names?"

"I've got Pink-a-Boo on right now," Rebecca giggled. "I don't know who comes up with this stuff."

"Well you certainly have no room to complain, since you bought it even _after_ seeing what it was called," Riza teased. "Hey, are they supposed to look like this?" she added doubtfully, poking at the inflated white blob on the end of her fork.

"More or less," Rebecca confirmed. "It's better with an open flame, cuz the outside gets all brown and crispy. But beggars can't be choosers. At least they're getting melty. Here," she said, popping up.

She passed Riza a graham cracker with a piece of chocolate on it before assembling her own. In spite of the mess of crumbs and melted marshmallow that wound up all over their faces and fingers, Riza had to admit that this s'mores thing tasted pretty damn good. As she licked the last of the gooey sugar from her forefinger, thinking about a certain late night tea party she'd once had, Riza froze.

There were footsteps echoing down the corridor.

"Shit," Rebecca whispered, stiffening as she heard them too.

"Under the bed, quick," Riza instructed, unplugging the hotplate and shoving it against the wall under her desk. Rebecca scrambled to obey while Riza quickly opened books and papers to spread out over the open packages of chocolate and marshmallows still strewn across her desk. She dropped into her desk chair just as the door handle turned.

"Cadet Hawkeye, what are you doing up at this hour?" a stern female voice asked. Feigning surprise, Hawkeye leaped to her feet and hastily saluted the older woman.

"Lieutenant Colonel Weston, ma'am!" she gasped.

"At ease, cadet," the grey-haired woman said. "Lights out was four hours ago, young lady," she added, folding her arms and clearly expecting a plausible explanation.

"Forgive me, ma'am. I-I woke up and couldn't fall back to sleep. So I thought I might as well get some reading done, since I was up anyway," she stammered quickly. The nervousness wasn't all an act, and she prayed that there were no tell-tale crumbs on her face. But her superior just chuckled quietly at her.

"If you're really reading the early history of the Xingese Dynasty, then I suspect your plan may work," she said lightly, glancing at the pile of books. "However, it _is_ past lights out. And I cannot make exceptions, even for my most diligent students. So I must ask you to extinguish the lights, now, and get back into bed. Perhaps you could try counting sheep, instead," she added, not unkindly.

"Yes, ma'am, I understand. And I'm sorry; it won't happen again." The older woman waved her apology off.

"Just make sure your light is off by the time I pass back this way, cadet. Good night," she said, and closed Riza's door behind her with a soft click. Riza held her breath as the footsteps moved off down the hallway.

"Man, that was close," Rebecca breathed, wriggling out from under the bed. "Just my luck that the harpy had to pee in the middle of the night. Normally she sleeps like the dead!"

"Won't she notice you aren't in your room?" Hawkeye asked, bending down to retrieve the still-warm appliance from under her desk. Rebecca began stuffing the leftover s'more ingredients into the bag she'd brought them in.

"Nah, she never does bed checks. She saw your light on, that's all." To Riza's amusement, Rebecca stuffed the bag of sweets into Riza's closet under a pile of soft grey standard issue gym shorts. Noting Riza's raised eyebrow, Rebecca just shrugged. "What? No one would ever search your room for contraband sweets. That old battle ax adores you. Crotchety old thing has never used that motherly tone on any of us, that's for damn sure."

"Maybe because you call her a harpy and an old battle ax?" Hawkeye suggested mildly.

"Oh for...all right, fine, you may have a point," Rebecca huffed.

"We're just lucky she didn't come by five minutes sooner," Riza said with a grimace. "Suppose she'd walked in when we were still roasting the damn things?"

"Think we could have gotten off if we asked her to join our impromptu slumber party?" Rebecca asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Only if you offered to braid her hair," Riza shot back. And then both girls broke down into hysterical giggles, shushing and elbowing each other in an effort to stifle the noise.

Remembering that Lt. Colonel Weston would be passing by again soon, Riza finally shoved Rebecca towards the bed and flicked out her lamp. They huddled together in the center of the bed in the darkness, straining to hear and still occasionally shaking with silent giggles. After what felt like an age, the slow, heavy footfalls of the Lt. Colonel approached at last. Her steps slowed as she approached Riza's door and then stopped as if the woman was debating opening the door again. Rebecca threaded her arm through Riza's and the two girls clutched at each other, excited and slightly afraid of what would happen if they were caught.

Finally the older woman made up her mind, and the two cadets listened with racing hearts as she moved away from the door and back towards her own quarters.

"_That_," Rebecca whispered, slightly breathlessly. "That was even better than a ghost story by a campfire."

"I'll have to take your word for it," Riza whispered back. "That was completely insane!"

"I know, wasn't it great?"

"You madwoman, what would we have done if she'd opened the door again?" Riza asked, although she was giggling again.

"We would have figured something out," Rebecca said loftily. "I was debating between 'I was sleepwalking and wandered into the wrong room,' and 'I had a horrible nightmare and Riza's the only one who likes me enough to pet my head before sending me back to my dorm.' That one would have had tears."

"It might have worked if you'd thrown yourself at her and wept on her shoulder," Riza mused. "Hey, don't get comfy. You should go soon," she added as Rebecca wormed her way under the comforter.

"But my room is so far away," she mumbled, shifting over so Riza had room to lie down. "And this way, if you have another bad dream, I can wake you."

"You're going to get us both in trouble," Riza protested halfheartedly, fighting a smile.

"Shh," Rebecca said, nuzzling her face into Riza's pillow. "Sleepy now."

She kept her eyes closed for a few seconds longer before carefully opening one eye to see whether Riza was buying her act. Catching her peeking, Riza couldn't hold back a snort of laughter. Which led to another lengthy bout of barely restrained giggles as well as a brief fight over the single pillow.

"Fair warning," Riza murmured sleepily, as the girls finally began to settle down again. "If someone catches us, I'll disavow any knowledge of your actions."

"See? You're getting the hang of the cutthroat rules of a slumber party after all," Rebecca chuckled.

"Sweet dreams, Rebecca," Riza whispered, as her eyes drifted closed. _And you, too, Mr. Mustang. Please don't die._

* * *

**A.N. So I've never actually attempted to make s'mores over a hotplate, but I have utilized an electric range. Which works, though it's not ideal. It's okay. I'm judging me, too. **

**;)**

**xoxo Janie**


	5. Lessons Learned

**Lessons Learned**

* * *

_"We should look for someone to eat and drink with before looking for something to eat and drink."_

_~Epicurus_

* * *

"They say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach, right?" Rebecca asked.

"A sharp instrument slipped between the ribs would be more direct. As long as you aim slightly to the left of the sternum," Riza answered with a straight face. Rebecca punched her arm.

"I'm serious!"

"So am I!" Riza retorted. "Did you even hear a word Major Winchester said in class today?"

"Never mind intercostal spaces, I'm talking about my _future_ here!" Rebecca cried.

"Yes, because paying attention to the combat training that'll ensure you survive long enough to _have_ a future is completely meaningless," Riza replied under her breath. Rebecca ignored her.

"Look, I've seen the way men drool over the housewifely types. You know: the ones who can cook and sew and all that tripe?" Rebecca asked.

Riza frowned. _She_ could cook and sew and 'all that tripe.'

"I thought you couldn't stand the idea of...what was it? The 'simpering bits of fluff who've bought into the idea that a woman's place is barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen?'" she said flippantly, trying not to think about how comfortable _she_'d always been in a kitchen.

"Come on, we both know a lot of those women are just brainless trophy wives," Rebecca maintained, folding her arms over her breasts and daring Hawkeye to contradict her. "But that doesn't mean that we should underestimate the value of a home cooked meal! Especially with the crap they feed us in mess. If I learn to cook, I could have these boys eating out of the palm of my hand!"

"Quite literally," Hawkeye agreed.

There was a short scuffle as Rebecca launched herself at the taller blonde and attempted to tweak her ear. Riza, putting their recent hand-to-hand lessons to the test, managed to block the attempt, duck under Rebecca's outstretched arm and pin Rebecca's arms to her sides from behind her. Although Rebecca squirmed loose before Riza had a firm hold on her and quickly danced out of her reach.

Ignoring the stares they'd drawn, Hawkeye absently straightened her white cadet's blouse while Catalina smoothed her dark curls, and both girls resumed their leisurely walk across the courtyard as though nothing unusual had happened.

"So...come on, what do you say?" Rebecca cajoled, hitting Riza with her best imitation of puppy dog eyes as they passed a group of bewildered upperclassmen.

"What do I say about _what_, exactly?" Riza asked, warily. She had a feeling she knew where this was headed.

"I know you can cook," Rebecca replied. "I've seen you in action!"

"Peeling potatoes doesn't require much in the way of culinary prowess," Riza evaded.

"Don't try and play dumb - you told me yourself that you were a good cook," Rebecca retorted, fixing her friend with an accusatory glare.

Had she? Well, _damn_. Hawkeye sighed.

"Tell me again why _you_ never learned to cook? I'm the orphan, here. What's your excuse?"

"Well...Mom tried. But I wasn't much good at the following instructions part," Rebecca mumbled. "Eventually she gave up and set her sights on my little sister, and everyone was much happier for it."

"Let me guess. You're one of those people who can't even boil water without causing some sort of catastrophe, aren't you?"

"Yep! So you've got your work cut out for you!" Riza sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose.

"All right. Suppose I agree," she said, regretting it even as the words left her lips. "Where exactly do you propose to have this cooking lesson? We live in dorms, remember? We don't even have running water in our rooms, let alone the appliances necessary to prepare food."

"Sure we do! The kitchen's enormous!"

"The dining hall kitchen?" Riza asked with an incredulous half-laugh. "And just how will we arrange for permission to have a cooking lesson _there_?"

"You let me worry about that. You just be ready to impart all that culinary knowledge when the time comes."

"You're going to get us both kicked out one of these days, you know that?" Hawkeye asked. Catalina noticed that she still hadn't outright refused, and she grinned over at her.

"Hey, they'll have to catch us first!"

* * *

And so, less than a week later, Hawkeye found herself leading an impromptu cooking class in the middle of the night.

"Oh for the love of...give me that," she sighed, rescuing a mangled onion from Rebecca's grasp. "You're worse off than I thought. Here, like this." Even Mr. Mustang had had some rudimentary skills when they'd first met, Riza mused. And she'd thought _he_ was hopeless. But at least he'd been able to chop vegetables into relatively equal pieces. Rebecca made him look like a world class chef in comparison.

Rebecca pouted for a moment, but watched carefully as Riza demonstrated an easier, less haphazard way to dice an onion.

"Maybe I should just _watch_ you," she suggested when Riza handed her another onion to chop.

"You'll never learn that way," Hawkeye said firmly. "Remember the potatoes? Go on, give it another try."

"Can't we make something else besides _meatloaf_?" Rebecca whined, glaring over at the mixing bowl containing the raw ground beef. "Something more...I dunno, sexy. Like Pâté de Canard en Croûte?"

"Pâté de...do you even know what that _is_?" Hawkeye asked, incredulous. _Leave it to Catalina to dream big,_ she thought.

"Nope!" Rebecca admitted. "But it sounds sexy, doesn't it?"

"Trust me on this. You ought to master the basics before you try to take on the notoriously difficult recipes," Hawkeye chuckled. "Besides, meatloaf is one of the dishes on the menu for tomorrow, which means they've got all the ingredients we need, and they probably won't notice that a few things are missing."

"Oh all right, all right. But it seems like such a boring meal," Rebecca pouted.

"It's a classic comfort food for a reason," Riza said, smiling. "Besides, a lot of men prefer the simpler meat-and-potatoes dishes over more complex fare."

"Yeah?" Rebecca had a sudden epiphany. "Wait, you're speaking from experience! You little minx! How many men have you seduced with your cooking?"

"Nothing drives them to distraction like my meatloaf and mashed potatoes," Riza deadpanned. "In fact, my recipe for chicken and dumplings is so irresistible I've been chasing men off my doorstep since the day I first wielded a saucepan."

"I knew you were holding out on me," Rebecca muttered darkly.

Twenty minutes, two pounds of ground beef, three eggs, four onions and a slightly burned thumb later, Rebecca slammed the oven door closed on the fruits of her labor.

"This is stupid. I'm never gonna remember all this stuff. Maybe I should just hire someone to make stuff for me..." she added speculatively.

"You'd better not be looking at me," Riza returned, archly. Rebecca was, of course, looking directly at her friend. "I'm not a caterer, Catalina!" Riza protested, crossing her arms.

"But you're so much better at this than meeeee!" Rebecca wailed.

"God, I can see it now," Riza moaned, untying her apron and lobbing it into the hamper with the other dirtied aprons and dish towels. "Suffering from a moment of temporary insanity, I'll reluctantly agree to help you make a meal to impress your latest potential soul mate. And then I'll spend the entire day slaving over a hot stove, while you bat your eyelashes at the poor schmuck and claim all the credit."

"Well, I couldn't very well tell him the truth; he'd dump me in a heartbeat to chase after you," Rebecca agreed, grinning.

"So instead, your lover-boy will fall head over heels for _my_ amazing cooking," Riza continued, trying and failing to hide her smile. "In fact he'll be so smitten by the home-cooked meal that he'll whisk you off to be married right then and there. And then I'll spend the rest of my life chained up in your dark, damp basement, making _all_ of the meals for you both lest he someday discover the truth and kick you to the curb," she finished, chuckling.

"Oh come on! I'd never do that!" Rebecca cried. "I mean, your basement cell would be warm and dry and airy! And I'd let you have a window. With gingham curtains and everything! You'd never even miss your normal life, I promise," she laughed.

"Thanks ever so much," Riza said sarcastically. "But I've _been_ the overworked and underappreciated housefrau. I think I'll pass. And you know, I think you're overlooking something important, here."

"What's that?" Rebecca asked, quirking a brow.

"If you married into money, then your husband would already have a household staff - one that probably includes a cook. So you'd never even _need_ to step foot in a kitchen, much less resort to kidnapping."

Rebecca's jaw dropped open.

"Brilliant. You're a fucking _genius_, Riza," she breathed. "Why didn't I think of that before? To snag a rich older guy, I just need to be young and pretty, and I've totally got that part down already! This opens up SO many possibilities! Now, where does one meet the wealthy bachelors in this town…?"

"Oh, that's just wonderful. I've created a monster," Riza grumbled, warily watching her starry-eyed friend twirl around the kitchen in delight.

"Hey, I just thought of something else," Rebecca said, coming to an abrupt stop in front of the oven. "What are we gonna do with these two pans of meatloaf, once they're done?"

"Stick them in the fridge and hope no one notices," Riza shrugged, unconcerned. "Hopefully they'll just serve them up with everything else tomorrow without asking questions."

Turning to her left, Rebecca pried open one of the doors of the stainless steel industrial refrigerator.

"Hmm…" she said, eyeing the contents thoughtfully. "Well, at least there's plenty of room in here. Oh, hey, aren't these—?"

"Fresh peaches," Riza supplied, peering over Rebecca's shoulder. Both girls paused to savor the sweet, slightly tangy scent of ripe peaches wafting out of the open door. And then Riza's face took on a slightly mischievous look. "Say, Catalina…we haven't talked about desserts, yet."

"And you thought _you'd_ created a monster?" Rebecca murmured with amusement as her friend nudged her aside and started gathering peaches.

"Even if you're a lousy cook, you ought to be able to seduce that rich older man of yours with baked goods," Riza replied, adding shortening and flour to the pile of peaches on the counter. "And a fresh peach pie will get your foot in the door. I guarantee it. Can you pass me a pie tin? Third cupboard on the left."

"Seriously, how do you know all this stuff?" Rebecca asked. And she wasn't referring to the layout of the kitchen. "I mean, exactly how many broken hearts _have_ you left in your wake, you little temptress?" She caught the peach that was thrown at her head just before it hit her face. "Hey!"

"Do you want to learn to bake a pie or not?" Riza asked, casually tossing another peach in the air and catching it one-handed.

Glancing from her friend to the peach in her own hand, Rebecca grinned.

"Well...I suppose it couldn't hurt to take advantage of all the assets at my disposal, huh? Bring it on, Riza-_sensei_!"

"That's the spirit," Riza laughed.

* * *

**A.N. For the record, I'm not the greatest cook, but I _am_ a pretty decent baker. Though I've yet to seduce anyone with my cheesecake, I do get lots of requests when the holidays roll around, LOL. As always, feedback is deeply appreciated!**

**xoxo Janie**


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